"It's fucking dark out here!" Cartman complained. And it smelt like rotten wood and mildew. He hated the goddamn woods.
"I know sweetie, but the counsellor said this might help with your nightmares." His mother replied, her syrup sweet voice on the edge of cracking.
"Mr Mackey doesn't know shit, mmkay?"
Lianne emitted a little giggle. They were sitting on a smelly log, and she had her arms around him. My baby, she thought, shrouded in maternal denial. A cold gust of wind went past and he snuggled up closer to her.
"He says you told him you see things - bad things - when you close your eyes," She whispered.
"He said that if I take you someone really dark it'll feel like having your eyes closed - just without seeing those…things," She said. She admitted it sounded a little silly, but anything was worth a try these days. Then she added, "what is it that you see?"
Nazis. Dissected organs. Bombs. Corpses. Kyle Broflovski. Cake.
"Just stuff," He replied. He didn't want to be here. He didn't know why the nightmares effected him so much. Those images were part of him, the etchings of his own mind. Racing thoughts that didn't need a second fucking opinion.
Just when he was asleep did he feel like they were attacking him. He hated that it felt like his own mind was against him. That was the real nightmare. He felt ripped. He felt angry, distorted. At least part of him did. He was the king of the world, the leader.
But the dark made him forget about that, and tore him again. He held close to his mommy.
"Is this helping?"
"No, I can still blink."
"Oh," She laughed nervously, "worth a try I suppose. Now lets go home and get you some cake, alright sugar bun?"
He smiled, and pushed the dark away. Cake is so kickass.